Family of the Steward
by adorkable123456
Summary: Some one-shots about the family of Denethor. Told mostly from Finduilas's POV


"Newly Weds"

Finduilas stood on the edge of Minas Tirith, her new home. Yesterday, she had married Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor. He was a decent man; never abusive, spoke politely, and he courted her properly. Last night they consummated their marriage. "Making love" would not have been appropriate, for their marriage was not an unhappy one, but a loveless one.

"Boromir"

Finduilas sat up and smiled at her husband as he beheld his first born: a son, and heir to his line. Boromir, they named him.

"I have a son!" cried Denethor as he cradled the boy in his arms. "An heir!"

The only other time Finduilas had ever seen her husband with that kind of light in his eye was when he stole a glance at the throne of Gondor when he thought she wasn't looking. However, she always saw it. She knew how badly he wanted to be King of Gondor and Men. Now, he looked at this child, as if willing it to follow in his footsteps.

He swiftly kissed her brow. It was a sweet kiss, but a meaningless one.

"Faramir"

Finduilas cradled her second son in her arms, awaiting the arrival of Denethor. Faramir was, in his mother's eyes, the handsomest baby boy in all Middle-earth. Somehow, she knew he would not turn out like his father as Boromir had.

She sang softly and old lullaby of her people to the sleeping bundle in her arms, and she stroked his tiny face with her slender index finger, dreaming of the man he would one day become.

The maid that had been sent to fetch Denethor returned, but the Steward was absent. Sheepishly, she stepped toward the lady.

"My lady," she said. "The Lord Denethor is not coming. He is busy with your son, Boromir." With that, she hurried from the room.

Finduilas's mouth fell open. It was an expected blow, but a heartless one.

"Sickness"

Faramir was still only four, and Boromir just nine. Their mother and father were in the Steward's bedchamber, having a serious talk, and nether boy was sure what it was about. They stood in the hall outside, awaiting their parents.

Without realizing it, Faramir reached up and grasped a handful of his brother's sleeve.

"Boromir…" he began, but second guessed himself. "Never mind."

Boromir looked down at his brother. "What is it, little brother?"

"Well, I was just going to ask if you're as frightened for Mama as I am," he replied. "But then I remembered that you're not frightened of anything."

"You're worried about Mother?" Boromir asked, feeling a little embarrassed at his little brother's compliment.

Faramir nodded, and Boromir ruffled the little one's hair, then held him close.

Boromir then opened his mouth to offer some words of comfort, but at that moment, Denethor yanked the doors open and swept up to his sons. He put his hand on Boromir's shoulder and held his gaze for a few moments before continuing down the hall.

Then Finduilas emerged from the room and approached her sons. Faramir immediately was released from his brother and clung to his mother.

"Mama," he said. "What's wrong?"

She knelt down to be on his level.

"I'm fine. The doctor says I'm just a little sick, that's all."

Faramir looked skeptical. It amazed her how he could read people, even as a four-year-old. He did not press the issue, despite his doubts.

"Boromir," she addressed her eldest. "Will you take Faramir to the library for me? I feel weak, and I must rest."

"Yes, Mother," he answered, and held his hand out to Faramir. Faramir took it reluctantly, but did not look back as he allowed himself to be led away by his brother.

'They're so different,' Finduilas thought to herself. She noticed how grown up Broromir already behaved. When had he gone from calling her "Mama" to "Mother"?

It was an innocent question, but not a thoughtless one.

"Loss"

Faramir, now five years old, and Boromir, now ten, were out about the city, watching the older boys learn to wield a blade. In two years, Boromir would get his turn.

A servant of their house called to them and they jogged to meet him.

"It's your mother," he said.

They boys hurtled to their mother's bedside, where Denethor already sat, holding his lady's hand.

"Denethor," she said her voice barely above a whisper. "Could you and Faramir give me a moment with Boromir, please?"

Her lord nodded and led his son out to the hall. They stood in silence for what felt like hours.

"She's going to die, isn't she?" Faramir asked, although it wasn't really a question.

His father did not look at him, but stared at the door as if trying to see through it, and nodded.

Inside, Boromir held his mother's hand gently, but the knuckles on his other hand were white form gripping his knee.

"Boromir," she said quietly. "Promise me you will be the best soldier in your age group." She attempted a smile.

"Yes, Mother," he promised. He felt tears in his eye, but blinked them back.

"Promise me you will marry a fine woman who loves you, and you treat her kindly."

"Yes, Mother."

"Promise me you will rule Gondor fairly, and be a good Steward, but a kind and caring one as well."

"Yes, Mother."

"And Boromir, call me 'Mama' before you go."

"Yes, Mama," he said and he kissed her brow.

She squeezed his hand. "I will always love you," she whispered.

"Yes, Mama," he agreed. "And I you."

He turned to go.

"Boromir," she said, and he whipped around. "Take care of your father and especially your brother. He admires you so."

"Yes, Mama." With that, he turned and hastened out of the room, so she would not see the single tear run down his cheek.

"Faramir," he said as he exited and wiped away what he thought to be a sign of weakness. "She wants to see you now."

Faramir glanced at his father, who ignored him, then nodded to his bother. He then walked in.

"Faramir," she greeted, struggling to speak. "I have a few requests to make of you, sweetheart."

"What are they?" he asked his voice so childlike, so innocent. Far too young to be losing his mother.

"I want you to continue reading from the library," she said. "Promise me you will go as often as you can, and think of me."

"Of course, Mama," he pledged.

"Marry someone who will cherish you for all of you. You are her first choice, and she yours. No settling for political reasons."

"It is many years before then, Mama, but I shan't forget."

She smiled.

"Promise me, my son, that you will never resent or stop loving your brother, no matter what happens. There will be times when he is all you have. Promise me you will always love him."

"To the end of my days, Mama."

"I love you so much, my darling," she told him, quieter than she had ever been before. "Faramir…" she trailed off, and was gone.

He pressed his lips to her soft, now cold hands. "I love you too, Mama. So much."

It was a loving moment, but not a tearless one.


End file.
